


keep holding on

by Living_On_My_Own



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Freddie needs loads of hugs and kisses, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I also hate Paul, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, i swear he does his best, or at least he mostly is, thank god Jim is here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27437821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_On_My_Own/pseuds/Living_On_My_Own
Summary: 5 times Freddie had to deal with the memories alone + 1 time he didn’t(or, Freddie gets in his head and tends to forget that Jim is there to help him)
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Paul Prenter, Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	keep holding on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [immistermercury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fluorescent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544326) by [immistermercury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/pseuds/immistermercury). 



> Thank to @immistermercury for giving me the idea (well not really but at least for giving me the permission to steal the plot of your story😂)
> 
> And thank you to @oatrevolution for editing my story for the second time <3
> 
> (Inspired by the fantastic story Fluorescent by @immistermercury)

1.

Jim isn’t here, he hasn’t come like he was supposed to. He told him they were gonna cuddle, eat dinner together, spend some time they often neglect together. Freddie misses Jim so bad. Does Jim ever think about him?

His house is empty, nobody’s there. Is someone in this world thinking of him? Wondering if he’s okay, how he’s feeling, alone, in this dark house that used to feel like a prison, though in moments like these, it still feels like jail. 

He’s crying, because he feels heartbroken—what if Paul was right after all?

  
  
  


_ Jim hasn’t come. They were supposed to hang out together, to go out for a walk, go maybe to a coffee shop, to discuss everything they could think about. But he hasn’t come. Freddie waited for at least an hour, sitting on the floor, beside the door.  _

_ There are already tears, falling on his delicate face, sliding down his defined cheekbones. He’s stuck now, stuck in his own house that became a prison months ago. Jim should have come, he could have helped him, he would have made him free, at least for a few hours.  _

_ He takes his telephone in shaking hands, he needs to stop crying. His hands type Jim’s number and press the call button. He brings the phone to his ear, trying so hard to not sound like he’s still in tears.  _

_ “Hey! Freddie!” Jim says when he finally answers the call.  _

_ “Jim!” He tries to sound cheerful, to sound as if he’s not on the verge of sobbing.  _

_ “Why are you ca _ — _ oh my god, Fred, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot we were doing something!” Jim says.  _

_ (He forgot, he got caught up in his own mind, in his head, thinking about Freddie. He forgot his friend was waiting for him to come. They haven’t hung out in so long.) _

_ “It’s okay, Jim, don’t worry. I’ll be fine! We’ll see each other another day,” Freddie tells him, still trying to sound convincing. A few new tears fall down. Jim forgot; he forgot about him.  _

_ They tell each other to have a good day, Jim doesn’t offer to come, even if he’ll be late. He probably doesn’t even want to hang out with Freddie in the first place _ — _ not many do anymore. _

_ Freddie hangs up the phone, Paul will see he’s still here, that nobody came for him. He hasn’t left in time. He could go out alone, he could walk in town alone, but he doesn’t like being alone, he only wanted to go on a walk because Jim would be there to talk to him, to distract him from all the bad images in his mind. Might as well let Paul see he’s still home.  _

_ “Freddie?” It’s him, he’s quicker than he expected. “Jim hasn’t come? You know what I’ve told you, sweetheart, did you really think he’d come? He has better things to do.” The words hurt so bad, they hit to the most profound part of his heart, the part that isn’t usually touched by anyone. Paul manages to hurt it often. Because he says the truth.  _

_ Both of his arms are caught in Paul’s hands, he lifts him up on his feet, scratching the skin red where his nails dig in, just beside multiple marks the colour of the sky. His arms already hurt so much that he’s gotten numb to any new pain.  _

_ “I told you, they all forgot about you already. Come on, baby, we’re gonna have our own fun together.”  _

_ He’s pulled into the master bedroom, pushed on the bed. It’s okay, he’s used to it. He needs to be ready for something like that any time of day. He flinches accidentally when Paul touches naked skin; it results in a red and stingy cheek.  _

_ Jim didn’t save him.  _

  
  
  


Tapping Jim’s number on his phone still leaves the memory heavy on his heart. He can’t help but wonder if Paul will pop out of nowhere, kill him slowly again. 

“Hi! Baby!” Jim says when he answers the phone and the ringing stops. 

“Hey, darling.” Freddie’s voice is low, filled with a loneliness he’s so used to but still not numb to. 

“What are y—oh god, love, I’m so sorry. I just remembered!” Jim exclaims, guilt clearly showing in his voice. “Do you want me to come? I’ll be here in an hour…” he says, but Freddie declines, telling him that it’s better if he doesn’t drive late at night, it’s too dangerous. 

But it’s just an excuse, because Freddie doesn’t have any energy to wipe away tears on his own face, like he always did; he doesn’t have energy to act happy and cheerful. 

“I’ll come over another day, I promise, baby,” Jim says quietly. It makes a tear Freddie has held in for so long finally fall. 

He pretexts a need to go to the bathroom to end the call as quickly as possible, not forgetting to tell Jim he loves him. 

(Jim says it back, not suspicious that anything’s going on.)

Jim is forgetting about Freddie already. 

  
  
  
  





It shouldn’t scare him so bad, it’s just a small question, a question that normally isn’t really asked. He could just go into Jim’s wallet, take some money, tell him after it’s spent. 

But it will probably make Jim so angry. And he can’t handle the consequences. 

  
  
  


_ He’s so hungry. So much that his stomach hurts incredibly bad. He can’t remember the last time he’s eaten, but it’s okay, because he’s still too fat for Paul. And if he starts eating again, then he’ll be even fatter. You can’t see his ribs and hipbones enough yet.  _

_ But he’s hungry, and each time he gets up, stars blur his vision and his body almost gives up on him. At least, Queen isn’t in the studio or on tour either right now. Which means he’s home with Paul everyday. The boys wanted to take a small break from seeing each other. Freddie doesn’t know what he should think of it. They probably just don’t want to see him. Nobody wants to.  _

_ Paul’s wallet is laying there, with no Paul around. It’s the best time to go take a few pence, a few pound notes. Paul’s still in the shower, he usually takes hours, the opposite of Freddie, who has to be as quick as possible. He doesn’t want to anger Paul.  _

_ He gets up not-so-steadily to his feet, his legs are shaking badly, either from hunger or the fear of being discovered doing such a bad thing. Slowly and quietly, he passes his hand in the creases of the leather wallet. He takes a few coins, his heart beating so loudly he bets Paul could hear it if he entered the room. He puts them in his pants pockets.  _

_ He goes to reach for more money, but his wrist is gripped by him, by Paul. He digs in his nails, probably bruising the skin, just above another fresh bruise, one that still hurts badly.  _

_ He gasps when Paul turns him around harshly. His heart has completely stopped beating.  _

_ There’s suddenly a fist against his cheek, but Paul doesn’t let him go like he usually would. Freddie doesn’t fall on the ground, he stays in the other man’s grip, too frightened to do or say anything. Paul will kill him now, he’s sure of it.  _

_ “What were you doing? Stealing my money, huh?” There’s fire in Paul’s eyes, a fire that usually doesn’t go away if there isn’t a beating involved.  _

_ “I-I’m s-sorry,” Freddie whispers, but he knows that sorry’s don’t cut it with him.  _

_ “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you’re an ungrateful child and a fucking thief.” _

_ He tries so badly to hold the tears in, to not let them out. Tears make Paul angry, anything Freddie does or says makes him angry.  _

_ “It’s my money,” Freddie says, he needs to stand up for himself, he can’t accept everything Paul does or says. “I earned it, so it’s mine.” _

_ He’s pushed against the dresser, and the small of his back hits the edge of the dresser, a sharp pain going through his whole body. He shouldn’t have said anything, he should have shut his mouth like usual.  _

_ “If they were giving you money for your talent, baby, you would be very poor,” Paul says, with a smile you would give to a child.  _

_ Paul is right, he always is. Freddie isn’t even that good. He doesn’t deserve the money. It’s normal that Paul keeps it all. But he’s hungry, so hungry. He’s so hungry that his knees are weak and can barely hold him up on his feet.  _

_ “Please, darling, I’m so hungry,” he whispers, he can feel tears gliding down his face. Paul looks at him with disgust, he shouldn’t be crying, he’s such a baby.  _

_ “Do you wanna be fatter than you already are? You’re lucky I don’t ask you to bleach your skin too. Isn’t that already enough?” _

_ Freddie looks down at himself. He does look fat, his arms and legs could still be so much thinner. He’s not losing any weight. He’s lucky Paul even stays with him when he looks like this, when he’s such a disappointment. But there’s still a gnawing pain now in his stomach that makes him want to throw up, and his vision is blurry, and _ — _ and _ — _ and _ — _ everything hurts so bad.  _

_ “I’ll do anything,” he says, knowing what Paul will want him to do. It usually works, especially when Paul’s mad, it calms him down, makes him feel good. After all, Freddie is there to please him.  _

_ “Anything? You know what to do then.” _

_ Freddie falls on his bony knees, a bigger lump forming in his throat when he zips down Paul’s pants and lets them fall onto the hard floor. He tries to forget about what he's doing when his lips wrap around Paul’s member. Oh god, how he wishes he was gone. _

  
  
  


He swallows a stupid lump in his throat before speaking up. “C-Could I borrow some of your money?” Freddie asks, he grits his teeth, afraid to the core of angering his lover. 

(Jim raises his eyebrow, not quite getting why Freddie is asking him that. He’s a  _ rockstar _ . Doesn’t he earn money?)

“Forget it,” Freddie whispers, turning around to leave because his heart is beginning to get too loud and it’s best if he doesn’t insist. Jim allows him to eat, to do what he wants, shouldn’t he be grateful and be only happy with that? He’s such a spoiled little kid. 

But Jim stops him before he can leave. 

“How much do you need?” He says softly, his fingers tracing patterns on Freddie’s arm. He gets his wallet out of his jeans pocket, waiting for Freddie to answer. 

“Hum, around twenty pounds.” 

His hands are trembling when Jim hands him a 50 pound note. It’s too much, too much for what he really deserves. He really doesn’t deserve much. 

“Keep the change,” Jim says, kissing Freddie on his cheek sweetly. He doesn’t question him, ask him why he doesn’t use his card, or why he needs the money. He trusts him. It’s only money anyway. And Freddie deserves it all. 

Freddie immediately squeezes him so tightly in his arms, it must look ridiculous with how small he is compared to Jim, but he can’t find words to thank him. He can’t find words strong enough to tell him how much he loves him. Hopefully, this is enough. 

  
  
  
  





He  _ hates _ nightmares. Especially when they’re more memories than things coming from his too imaginative mind. Especially when they’re about things he  _ can’t  _ talk about. 

_ If you ever tell anyone, I’ll make you regret it.  _

When Jim is on the other side of the bed, asleep, it’s hard to keep himself from gripping him. He shouldn’t bother him. He needs a bit of a rest. Freddie’s very tiring sometimes. No, he always is. He’s aware. 

  
  
  


_ There are fingers gripping his hair by the roots, causing an excruciating pain to go through his entire head. He must be bleeding with how much it hurts. He should have acted better, he should have obeyed Paul.  _

_ He doesn’t have the choice but to look into his eyes when he yells at him, when each time he doesn’t his cheeks hurt more. Paul’s eyes are filled with the usual fire, the one that scares Freddie so horribly. Because each time he has it in his eyes, he’s not kind to him.  _

_ “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Freddie exclaims, too loudly for what Paul can handle when he’s angry.  _

_ “Don’t yell at me.” His voice is a low growl, threatening and dangerous.  _

_ A hand harshly takes his face, fingers pressing so deeply into his skin he can barely breathe. Paul’s proximity makes his breathing a bit faster. He can’t have a panic attack now. Paul will get angry, and he’ll hit him even more.  _

_ “Oh you’re so crazy, Freddie. If anyone else than me could see you, you would immediately be sent to a mental hospital. Look at you, panicking for no reason. I’m not being any different than usual, am I?” _

_ Freddie shakes his head, he needs to calm down. He needs to stop panicking.  _

_ “Are you a child? Come on, talk with words,” Paul says, his face getting slightly closer each second.  _

_ “No,” Freddie whispers painfully.  _

_ He only wanted to be comforted when he woke up from his bad dream. He wanted to be lying beside Jim (Jim, he’s too good of a friend to him, Freddie doesn’t deserve it) and for him to hold him tightly. But he doesn’t deserve this kind of comfort, so instead, Paul found him crying and made him regret ever existing.  _

_ He wants to go back to sleep, even if he knows there will be nightmares, he wants Paul to leave him alone for one night.  _

_ A fist hits him right at the left cheek. _

  
  
  


He could leave the bed, it’s probably the best solution. Let Jim have his rest, go maybe on the couch downstairs, hoping new nightmares won’t come to him. At least this way, Jim won’t be annoyed with how demanding and clingy he is. 

He doesn’t realize how loud he’s breathing until a soft and warm hand places itself on his shoulder. “Freddie?” Jim growls groggily, still half asleep. He cares enough about him to get out of his sleep and ask him what’s going on. It shocks Freddie, makes him feel as if nothing in the world could be greater than this. 

“I-It’s okay, go back to sleep,” Freddie insists, really not wanting Jim to be tired. He’ll get angry then, when he’ll realize it’s Freddie’s fault that he’s exhausted, because he made him stay up for stupid reasons. He doesn’t like anger to be directed at him. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” Jim asks, a hand caressing his love’s cheek sweetly. Freddie tries to keep tears in so hardly, Jim will find him ridiculous, or he’ll worry, when there’s nothing to worry about. He’s just being clingy, needy. 

Freddie nods silently and lets Jim bring him back down on the mattress. Instead of sleeping on their sides, which happens every night since he gets scared that Jim will get annoyed that he’s always so close, craving so much attention, they sleep close, limbs intertwined together. 

“I love you,” Jim whispers, so incredibly lovingly that Freddie is too choked up to answer. 

Only when Jim’s been asleep for a long enough time does Freddie let himself cry. He hopes his lover won’t notice that the pillow is wet when he wakes up the next morning. 

  
  
  





  
  


“C-Can I go see the boys, today?” he asks nervously. 

(Jim sometimes finds Freddie incredibly special, when he talks for hours about what he loves without getting a second to breathe, or just like times like these, when he asks questions not even needed to be asked.)

He looks like a small boy, so badly wanting to see his friends, but his Papa is giving him disapproving looks. He looks like he could just disappear in one second, vanish into thin air with how small he looks.

  
  
  


_ “You’re not going, Freddie, I don’t care how important,” he says the last word with sarcasm, “this little reunion is. You’re not going. Do you think they really even want to see you? If I was them, I’d just feel too bad to leave you on your own.”  _

_ Freddie lets his eyes fall to the floor. He’s right, the boys have done plenty of things without him and they didn’t seem to mind at all. Maybe it’s better he lets them have fun without him, he’ll just embarrass himself in some way and end up regretting going.  _

_ “It’s an important day today, we were gonna plan our setlist for the next concerts,” Freddie says so quietly, he tries to make himself believe that they do need him. Paul is wrong, he’s as important in the band as any of them are. He can’t bring himself to believe it.  _

_ “They’ll be fine doing that on their own, won’t they?” _

_ Freddie nods. He really wanted to see them, just to be sure they aren’t completely forgetting about him, that they still care he’s there with them.  _

_ “Also, won’t you clean up that mess in the living room? It’s disgusting and Dylan is coming over in a few minutes,” Paul explains.  _

_ Freddie stops himself before he can say that Paul made the mess himself; he doesn’t want to be hit today. It was supposed to be a good day, he can’t have it completely ruined. His arm still hurts from the last time Paul gripped it harshly.  _

_ Dylan is a friend Paul has, he’s not particularly harsh to Freddie. In fact, he doesn’t even acknowledge him.  _

_ He removes the beer cans and bottles from the floor, there’s some of it that has spilled onto the carpet. He cleans it hard until it’s gone. He notices Paul’s phone on the couch. He won’t be able to tell the boys that he won’t come today. Paul decided to keep his phone. The boys will get angry, he’ll have to sit through one of them probably yelling at him, like he doesn’t get yelled at enough.  _

_ When Dylan comes over, he forces a smile on his face. He tries to ask as perfect as he can, he wants to make Paul proud of him, maybe he’ll hug him? No, that’s too hopeful. Maybe he’ll have sex a bit less roughly than usual. He gives them drinks without a sigh, doesn’t even sit, always ready to do what Paul wants him to do. There’s no way he won’t be proud.  _

_ He was right, sex didn’t hurt too bad that night.  _

  
  
  


“Uh, yeah, go for it,” Jim tells him with a small and uncertain smile.

(He has no idea what to say, how to react. Should he be worried?)

“Do you want me back here at a certain hour?” 

Freddie doesn’t look at him for one second, scared that he’ll look too bold, too confident. Jim will like him better if he’s doing what he demands, if he’s obedient. He’s good at that at least, he’s good at pleasing, at doing what he’s told. He still makes mistakes, but maybe Paul would be proud of him if he saw him now. 

“Come on,” Jim says with a smile. 

(He doesn’t know exactly why Freddie’s acting this way, but he assumes Freddie just needs the reassurance.)

“Go have fun, baby. You can come home whenever you want.” 

Freddie looks up, a childlike smile forming on his lips. Jim kisses his cheek sweetly. He puts his hand on Freddie’s other cheek and Freddie melts at the touch, leaning in to feel the warmth as much as possible. He pulls away after Jim gives him another kiss, but on the lips this time. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

  
  





It’s dark in here, it’s probably at least midnight. But then why isn’t Jim sleeping, on his side of the bed? Why is his side of the bed empty? Cold? Where did Jim go?

Did he leave him?

Probably.

It wouldn’t be surprising, and Freddie knows it. 

Sitting up on the bed, knees brought up to his chest, he can’t help but let out a few tears. It’s just like that other time, that other time Jim left him. 

  
  
  


_ What’s there left? Nothing. There’s nothing left. No one, not a soul, nothing. Just a sharp pain, one that never ever leaves. Nobody’s here to care for him, to take care of his injured heart. Nothing to live for.  _

_ Everything’s black, all lights are closed, all curtains are closed, all doors are closed. He can hear his own breathing so loudly, because he’s alone, the room isn’t empty of things, but it’s empty of any memories, any feelings.  _

_ There’s probably a bit of blood still leaking down one of his legs, from his face too. The tears make it spread so easily. It burns. He can’t get out, can’t get out of this horrible nightmare his life is. So he tends to escape reality, to get in his head, where everything is going well. Too often, Paul’s fists bring him back on earth and make him realise that he’ll never get to be happy. He doesn’t deserve it.  _

_ Jim doesn’t want him, not even as friends, not anymore. He doesn’t want to be near him. He’d hoped Jim would be the one left, even when the boys were gone, he hoped he would still be there. He’s gone, he decided he deserved to have better friends than him.  _

_ He said he cared, that he missed him too, but he still stopped calling, stopped caring. Freddie knows it’s his fault, he’s the one who stopped talking to them all, he’s the one who decided maybe it was better if he didn’t bother them anymore. He knew they wouldn’t care enough to call him themselves, to go and see him. He’s left alone to tear himself apart with his own hands.  _

_ He’s alone.  _

_ As much in his head as he is in real life.  _

_ Lately, even his dreams began to fade away into dull worlds, worlds where nobody wants him, where nobody cares, nobody notices him. Worlds that are just like reality. It makes it easier to come back to earth, to get out of his daydreams.  _

_ (Baby, nobody wants you, I told you.) _

_ Breathing is so hard. Why does he need to? Can’t he just stop breathing? Stop living for a little while? He wants peace, wants calm, even if he’ll stay on his own. He only wants the loud voices in his head to go away, to leave him alone. He’s not sane anymore. He’s going absolutely crazy. He should be locked up.  _

_ Giving up on breathing is a good idea.  _

_ He’s not sure how to find the difference between the real world and the imagined ones. What’s even real anymore? Is he really laying down? Is he really bleeding? Is he really still alive? Are there really steps coming from outside the bedroom or is he imagining that too? _

_ He’s not dreaming, because the door is opened, and bright light makes it hard for him to see anything, but he knows Paul’s close to him. He can smell his scent, feel his presence. He can also feel fingers grabbing at some of his bare skin, not gently enough.  _

_ Please, someone, he wants to scream, let me die. _

  
  
  


There’s no sound, as if there’s no one home. What if there really is no one home? But Jim’s things are still on the floor. Did he leave, forgetting most of his things? Scared he’ll wake Freddie up?

Freddie’s own fingers scratch his skin, red marks form on his forearms. He can’t hear anything else over his loud breathing, over the rushing in his ears, over the loud voices, telling him that Jim doesn’t want him. Maybe, if he starts believing it enough, Jim will be there when he opens his eyes. 

_ You’ll always be too much, you just are. _

No, Jim won’t be there when he’ll open his eyes. Why would he want to stay? Why would he waste his time with a sad and undesirable man? Somebody who’s not wanted, and who has never been. 

He imagines fingers playing in his hair, massaging sweetly his scalp. He imagines warmth around his whole body, a warm hand taking his, kissing it. A thumb rubbing the top of his hand. He doesn’t imagine the tears, he doesn’t imagine the loud cries that get out of his mouth. 

His own fingers caress his arm. They’re not as warm as Jim’s would be. He wraps the blanket around his shoulder, it’s heavy, almost warm, not as much as Jim is. He puts his hand through his hair, playing with them slowly, it would be comforting if it was Jim doing it. 

His fingers tightened around his hair, until his scalp feels on fire. Until flashes of Paul doing this to him come through his mind. At least, if Paul was there, he wouldn’t be on his own, Paul wouldn’t ever leave him alone, he would be there. Even if it meant being in pain. 

“Baby.” Words are whispered, seeming so far away. 

There are finger touching his, untangling his from his hair, removing a bit of the pain. It leaves him with a headache, adding to the heartache he already feels. 

He opens his eyes, he can’t see anything for a few moments, because the room is so dark and because of the water still in his eyes. He eventually manages to find Jim’s eyes in the dark, everything already feels slightly better. 

“Baby, what’s goi-“ Jim tried to say, but Freddie shushes him. 

Freddie wraps his arms around his neck, his legs around his waist. And he stays there, not moving. It’s warm, it’s smells like Jim, he’s not gone. He didn’t leave. At least not yet. Freddie squeezes him as tightly as he can. 

He doesn’t try and hide the tears when they come. 

_ What will Jim think of you? _ His mind says, but he ignores it. 

Jim puts one of his hands into Freddie’s hair, comfortingly playing with them. He caresses lightly Freddie’s arm, soothing the pain from the red marks. He leaves a sweet kiss on his forehead. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers. 

“It’s okay.”

  
  


+1.

  
  


“He used to starve me for days, and I-I.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Freddie.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

There’s a crushing disappointment on Freddie’s heart. Jim doesn’t want to hear it. He’s probably annoyed, bored with him. 

“Hey, no, Freddie,” Jim says sweetly, but slightly hard too. He wants Freddie to really listen. “I can listen to you if you wanna talk about it. But you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Come on, sit on my lap, baby,” Jim proposes, patting his knees. Freddie accepts immediately, sitting on Jim, facing him. Like that he can hide his face in Jim’s neck, lay his head on Jim’s chest. Like that he can kiss Jim how much he wants. 

He does end up kissing Jim a few times in a row, enjoying the feeling of the lips of someone  _ wanting _ him. He’s never felt something like that before, never experienced it before. Jim  _ loves  _ him. He’s not sure he really believes it, but at least he can convince himself that he does. 

He pulls away to start talking again. He knows Jim won’t refuse him again. “He used to take my money, he still does. He d-didn’t let go see friends, and when he occasionally did, I had to be back at a precise hour.” There’s Jim’s fingers, wiping at his face when tears come out and start rolling down his face. 

He somehow can’t bring himself to say his name, to let the word come out of his mouth. He doesn’t want to hear it again, not even from his own lips. 

“He told me that my career wouldn’t ever go anywhere since I can’t really sing. He told me t-that all I was ever good at was having sex, and even that I-I couldn’t even make him f-feel good. H-he said that none of the boys a-and you would want me if you knew how much of a whore I am. That no one else than him would want me. B-but I knew h-he didn’t really love me s-so-“ He cuts himself when the tears are too many and he can’t look at Jim anymore. 

Jim puts his hand on one of his trembling shoulders, rubbing his thumb on it. “He didn’t even know you. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met and not even just me and your band mates love you, but the whole world loves you. I know maybe you don’t believe it for now, but I love you more than anything.”

Freddie puts his hand on his hand on his mouth, he lets himself be brought closer to Jim. He’s wetting his shirt but Freddie doesn’t really care, he listens to the heartbeat under his ear and for a few seconds, he lets himself believe it, believe that he truly is loved. 

“I love you too, Jim,” he whispers, voice rough, but his chest fills with a whole lot of butterflies. 

He’ll never get enough of Jim’s warmth, Jim’s love. 

“I’m here, forever, baby.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing this!  
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated:)


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